


Larks and Echoes

by gloss



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Dancing, Daring Escapes, Gen, Grief, M/M, Naboo Culture, Original Naboo Characters, Post-TRoS, Post-War, Rebuilding, Romance, deepening relationships, mudlarking, new uses for the Force
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:08:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24581320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: After the war, Finn's exploring new dimensions of the Force.Despite having Lando on his case, Poe is spinning his wheels.Naboo's rare double-lunar conjunction, however, is imminent, and with it, a festival that can't be missed.
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Finn
Comments: 10
Kudos: 66
Collections: Fandom 5K 2020





	Larks and Echoes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [isxbella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/isxbella/gifts).



> Originally published June 30, 2020. Redated at author reveals, July 12.

Over breakfast, they woke up slowly. Finn was dressed and ready to leave, while Poe still sported the shapeless singlet and old thermal breeches he'd slept in. Although the weather outside looked to be much the same as usual, overcast and chilly, in their small suite the light was warm and amber.

When the panbread was polished off and Finn was brewing another carafe of tea, Poe said, "Hey, Finn?"

"Yeah?"

"What do you call a Bantha in the Outer Rim?"

Finn was quiet for a long time. 

Poe cleared his throat. "I _said_ , what do you call a Bantha in the Outer Rim?"

At last, Finn turned around, his stool creaking. "I don't know, what _do_ you call a Bantha in the Outer Rim?"

Poe frowned a little. "I asked you."

"And I'm asking you back, isn't that how it goes?"

"How what goes?"

"The joke?"

"What joke?"

"What do you call a Bantha in the Outer Rim?" Impatiently, Finn waved away whatever Poe was about to say. "Is the joke. I'm not asking."

"It's not a joke," Poe said. He looked down at the little holo wavering up from his wrist comm. "I was trying to do a puzzle."

They were kind of terrible at civilian life. They were the first to admit that.

When the Resistance left Ajan Kloss for Mogao City, it moved onto the small campus of a long-closed school. The classrooms became apartments as well as offices. Postwar administration — refugee work, cleanup efforts, de-ideologizing education — required as much staff as their core military endeavor ever had.

Finn and Poe continued living together. It wasn't a big deal, really. They'd shared a bunk for nearly a year by then and it just made sense to keep their stuff, what little of it they had, together. 

"We're going to be over at each other's place all the time anyway," Poe had argued over one of the group's big communal meals. They'd all become accustomed to making and eating dinner together while on base and continued the tradition here in the school's cafeteria. "Why not cut the middle man?"

"More like middle ground?" Finn suggested.

Poe nodded rapidly. "Exactly! See what I mean?" He interlaced the fingers on both his hands and pretended he couldn't tug them apart. "That's us!"

"No one's claiming otherwise, mate," Beaumont put in. 

Jannah noted, "You're the one who brought it up."

Poe had a tendency to grow particularly effusive, even ebullient, when discussing his personal life. He chalked that up to simple, thoroughgoing emotion: _What, I'm going to hold back on how great you are? How I feel around you? Think again, my friend._ Sometimes Finn couldn't help wondering whether there was also a certain kind of defensiveness at work. Poe boasted and enthused in order to cut off criticism, however imaginary. Someday, Finn assumed, he would understand better what that criticism consisted of. He had a lot, _so much_ , to learn and grasp. Not just about Poe, but himself, and the world, the Force, the meaning of peace.

For the time being, however, he was more than content. Aside from the obvious — the end of all the violence — the one great boon of peace was how time had opened up. Where time had once been scarce, shrunk down and sharpened by terror and worry, it was now expansive, even relaxed. 

They had plenty of time to figure it all out.

*

The core contingent of the Resistance — that is, Rey, Finn and Poe, Rose and Connix, along with Jannah, Statura and Beaumont — might have, in other contexts, been called an inner circle. They made decisions collectively and delegated responsibility as fairly as seemed possible. Poe assumed that other people did have nicknames for their group. Further, he figured that many of those were probably highly unflattering. Sometimes he amused himself by dreaming up such nicknames: "Scum Slurry" was a good one, while "Abjectly Unsuited to the Challenges Before Them", however accurate, needed a lot of work.

For their part, Chewie and Lando preferred to be known as "Wise and Highly Respected Advisors". Failing that, they also accepted "The Old Guard".

"Ah, one of the Old Men," Poe said when Lando turned up that morning just as Finn was about to leave. Poe had pulled on a sweater and trousers, but he still managed to look like he'd just rolled out of bed. "No, that's wrong. What's the title again? Cranky Fussypants, that's Chewie. And you are...? Unflappable Elegance?"

Lando beamed at him as he took the seat Finn offered. "Someone slept well. Or —" He glanced at Finn and winked. "Got kept up all night?"

Poe mimed a blaster with his index finger and fired it. "Second one, obviously."

Finn coughed into his hand. "Can I get you a drink, General? Or some breakfast? We might have some left over."

"Nah, I went back for the rest," Poe confessed easily and patted his gut. "Sorry, General."

"Quite all right, quite all right." Lando smoothed down his caftan as he looked around the room. "Everything working out here? Need anything?"

Finn and Poe exchanged an entire conversation in glances over Lando's head.

"We're doing fine," Finn told him as he pulled on his anorak and checked the blaster on his hip. "And you?"

Before Lando could answer, Finn added, "I'm sorry, I need to get going —"

"He's got big Force-spookiness happening," Poe said with the same pride with which he'd describe BB-8's self-upgrades or his own unbroken record on the shooting range. "It's the coolest thing I've ever seen."

"What's the word for exaggeration beyond hyperbole?" Finn asked Lando, who'd turned around to smile indulgently at him. He pulled open the door. "Hope to see you soon, General."

"Me or him?" Poe called after him but Finn did not acknowledge the excellent wordplay. To Lando, then, he said, "Probably you."

"Doubtless. I am a delight and distraction."

"My role model," Poe replied.

Lando smoothed his mustache, nodding, suavely acknowledging the compliment. For a few moments, he said nothing, and then: "I received the strangest message last night."

"Good strange?" Poe asked. "Or...?"

"Just strange." Propping his elbow on the arm of the chair, he rested his cheek in his hand. "You know what's coming up? Right around the corner? It's a pretty big deal."

Poe no longer thought about time in terms of battles and campaigns, desperate fights for immediate survival, but he had yet to replace that approach with anything else.

"I pretty much take it day by day," he admitted.

"The big Festival of Echoes, out on Naboo," Lando said. "An ancestors thing, if I understand it correctly. Current generation dances and thanks those that came before."

"I'm not Naboo," Poe said. 

At that, Lando's smile went a little sly, even suggestive. "You sure about that?"

"Think I'd remember if I was." Poe shrugged. "I've had plenty of concussions, but longterm memory's just fine."

"Yet you keep 'forgetting' to deal with the Organa legacy."

"Yeah, well..." On his feet now, fidgeting, Poe bounced a little, then paced into the cookery to dig up something to eat. "That's different."

"Not really," Lando called. "Not at all, in fact."

Poe returned with tea and a bowl of dried springberries and retkey nuts.

"Each time we've spoken," Lando continued, then paused to dig out a berry from the mix, "you've been terribly flustered and have no idea where the time went and you swear up and down and sideways that you'll take care of them right away."

Poe pressed two fingertips against one eye, then the other. He sipped on the strong, sour tea, burned his tongue, and took another sip. Cold was fluttering, then sliding fast, through his system.

He knew he'd been procrastinating. He wouldn't have thought _Lando_ , of all people, would rebuke him like this.

"However!" Lando's tone changed, from admonition to bright, cheery salesman. "You're going to make up for all that, and in one easy trip, no less."

"How's that?"

"You go to the Festival of Echoes," Lando told him, quieter now, even gentle. He leaned over and grasped Poe's knee. "They want Leia's heir there."

"Lando —"

"That's you," Lando said. 

*

In the heady days after the victory on Exegol, Lando had invited Poe and Finn out to dinner. He said he wanted to get to know them better, away from the hubbub He took them to Bespin's system, bypassing Cloud City for an inn out on one of the moons. There, they were treated to several dishes that were each, on their own, some of the best food Poe had ever eaten. It had been a long time since they'd had enough time to sit back and enjoy a full, glorious meal. No emergency comms, no one jumping out to rush into the sky or load his blaster, no sirens heralding immediate evacuation. Just three friends eating and chatting and drinking some of Lando's private stock of excellent wine. 

They had a private room, its tall narrow windows thrown open to the damp evening air. Tapestries covered the walls and ran down over the multiple carpets. Around the narrow table, they sat on piles of lumpy cushions and more carpets. As the meal wore on and the wine flowed steadily, Poe got a little drowsy. The closeness of the room was dream-like, full of muted whispers and wavering smoke from the candles.

Finn was more alert, if a bit regretful over just how much he'd managed to put away.

"I've been talking to some jurists," Lando announced just as the fruit was served. He smiled winningly at the server, passing them a large-denomination credit chip, then waited until the three of them were alone again. "As you requested."

Poe sat up as straight as he could. While a moment before he'd been loagy and warm, he was shivering now, his heart hammering. Beside him, Finn took his hand.

Barely a week had passed since Exegol. They were already calling it "the end", despite knowing full well that there was no real _end_ , merely an irregular slowing down and lessening of intensity. 

It had been the end for Leia, however. That was how Poe used the word and understood it. 

"They're of several minds about the issue," Lando continued. He sucked the pulp from a slice of fruit before nudging the plate toward them. "You have to try this. They must smuggle them in, you just don't get this kind of flavor in this climate."

"The jurists?" Finn prompted.

"They're lawyers, of course they can come up with fourteen contradictory opinions."

"Which are...?" Finn uncrossed his legs and shifted forward, angling his shoulders just so, subtly blocking Poe.

From the truth? Or just another chunk of bad news? Neither of them knew. Lando's explanation didn't help very much. He'd engaged some of the best legal minds left, post-Hosnian Cataclysm, on the question of Leia's heir. 

She had appointed Poe her successor. No one argued that fact, just every other fact and possibility. Did his position extend to her private and personal interests? Moreover, her son had survived her by several hours. Which potentially disrupted the sequence of inheritance. Or _had_ he survived? Some analysts, having interviewed Rey, concluded that the person who'd left Kef Bir wearing Ben Solo's face was not the man who had arrived. There was an argument to be made that, indeed, the person who died in front of Rey on Exegol was, at least partially (though _how_ partially? To what percentage?) Leia Organa.

And if that person had in fact transferred their life force to Rey, was Rey then the proper heir?

"Shouldn't Rey be here, too?" Finn put in and Poe nodded in agreement.

Lando looked faintly uncomfortable — a wrinkle over his eyes, slight stiffening to his posture. "I'll be talking to her in the next few days."

"Why isn't she here?" Finn asked.

"They thought it best..." Lando picked up another slice of fruit, then put it back down. "Given the competing nature of the claims, it's best to consult with you separately."

"That's ridiculous!" Finn elbowed Poe. "Right? You're not competing with anyone, let alone Rey!"

"She'd win handily anyway," Poe said lightly but no one laughed.

"That's stupid," Finn told Lando. He sounded firm, but gentle, too. He had a knack for that. "Beyond stupid."

"That's not how it works around here," Poe added. "With us, I mean. Around us."

He was losing track of what he meant. He doubted he'd ever have Leia or Finn's swiftness of mind and ability to grasp the strangest, the bleakest, news with calm.

*

"I don't want it," Rey had said when they returned from dinner with Lando. She would repeat the same words several times in the ensuing weeks. "That's not me, that's nothing I want anything to do with."

"I don't _want_ it, either!" Poe had tried to argue. "Do you think I want it?"

"No one said that," Finn told him. 

It sure felt like that was the message, though. Everyone assumed that Poe would take over. That he wasn't just willing, but able.

He wished he could duck out of the assumptions as neatly as Rey did. She had other things to do, however, important quests and tasks. He didn't.

Before the war, grief meant one thing for Poe. It took one shape and felt just one, singular way. Grief was missing his mother. She was sick for a long time, but that was normal compared to what came after. After, she was gone and the world was empty. Grief was hearing his dad coughing at night to cover up his tears. It was sneaking into their room to bury his face in her jerseys, still hanging in the corner, empty and expectant. Grief was the shape of what had fallen away.

Then, in the war, grief reemerged, transformed. Now it was the normal thing, a shuddering ache constantly at the back of his throat and mind. So many names, and then faces whose names he'd never learned, vanished. Their absence punched through the world, again and again, until the few survivors had to pick their way across lace.

He thought, back then, that he'd grown accustomed to grief. It drove him to take on Holdo; it made up his mind for him about Finn — to stop hovering and flirting and just grab the man's hand and never let go. He never believed he'd _mastered_ grief, but he would have said he was adjusting to its omnipresence.

Leia's death proved him wrong.

Grief was still, and quiet, and heavy. Her absence came at the level of his cells — below his skin, across his nerves, haunting the shapes his thoughts took.

"Ridiculous man," she would have said to him, if, somehow, impossibly (but desperately desired) she were here to observe what he is without her. "Get on with it."

He'd hesitate.

She would have shoved him, fingertips backed by the Force, her smile narrowing. " _Go_ , flyboy. Live."

He was trying. He really was.

*

"You need to get this sorted," Lando said that morning as he drew on his cloak. 

"I know. I know." Poe was lacing up his boots. 

"Everything'll feel better once you do."

"Will it?" Poe waved his hand. "Never mind, yeah. You're right."

He walked Lando back to the space port. On the way, they caught each other up on industry gossip, both legitimate industry news concerning hyper-freight shipping and luxury goods export and illicit whispers and allegations of piracy and smuggling.

Poe was due to depart that afternoon for a run to Fanshu under Lando's corporate beacon. 

"Go to Naboo," Lando said before the ramp drew up.

"And not Fanshu?"

Lando grinned at him. "Fanshu, then Naboo, obviously. Consider it an order."

"You're not letting this go, are you?"

Lando just saluted him ironically before the ramp rose and hid him from sight.

Before leaving the port and heading over to Rey and Finn's Force lab, Poe checked on the refurbished VCX light freighter he'd been using when doing runs for Lando. Everything looked in order, but he fussed over a coolant nozzle and the back-up fuel lines anyway until BB-8 knocked him in the leg.

"I'm going, I'm going," Poe said. "Since when did everyone start bossing me around?"

BB-8 started to answer but Poe shook his head. "Rhetorical, buddy. That's the last question I need answered."

As Poe completed his walk-around of the freighter, BB-8 rolled up, cheeping merrily.

Distracted, trying not to think about Naboo or, really, much of anything, Poe had to get him to repeat the message.

BB-8's optical spot whirled, a trick he'd learned from R2 to indicated impatience. He started over, telling Poe that he'd rented a nice suite just outside of Theed proper, confirmed his attendance at the Festival of Echoes, and informed Finn of their plans.

Poe groaned, then knocked his forehead lightly against the fuselage for emphasis. "Please don't be so efficient. Why do you have to be so efficient?"

BB-8's response boiled down to "'cause I'm the best!"

From the port, Poe made his way to an old hangar that Rey had commandeered. 

If he'd timed it right, he could join Finn and the others for lunch. That took precedence over any other concerns. 

*

The project in the hangar had begun relatively simply. During her review of the files leaked by Hux, Rose started noticing patterns. The files themselves concerned the Sith fleet and various proposals for implementing the transition into the Final Order. These files, however, were mixed in with many shorter packets that seemed, if anything, to be the contents of Hux's data junkyard. (It was just like him, they all agreed, to clean out his datapads at the same time he was committing treason. He was just that fussy.)

The patterns appeared only as Rose copied each file, however nondescript, from its First Order directory to clean, newly-purchased datacores. Many files were bloated; they appeared large in their original context, only to transfer at much smaller sizes. 

"They've got ghosts," Rose had explained, first to Connix when she'd sought her help, and then to Finn, Poe and Rey when they reported what they'd discovered. "And those ghosts are really old databits, written over and over."

"How old?" Finn asked. He followed the technical jargon much better than Poe, while Rey's attention was on Connix and her suggestions for data redundancy.

"Old," Rose said, "like twenty years? Thirty." Poe groaned at that and Rose shrugged. "Older, too."

She couldn't directly resurrect the content of the ghost-bits. What she did do, painstakingly, was shade in everything that _wasn't_ the content. There was a story in the wiped data, told everywhere it wasn't. Those shades were still emerging, but already they looked a hell of a lot like growth and travel records. 

Using the data's astrographic coordinates that Rose extracted, Rey and Connix built a web to map the sites and their relationships. At first, the web was a holo projection, just like the maps they'd used throughout the war. Then, frustrated by incompatible distances and impatient to keep moving forward, Rey and Connix laid out lumino-cable to mock up, physically, the web they envisioned. They traced the relationships between the bits and laid those over coordinates and dates.

Poe, and even Finn, remained unclear on how the final step worked. 

Somehow, however, Rey made the web _sing_. She sat in its middle, found the Force and sank into its flow, and in response, the web started to vibrate and glow. 

"Fucking freakiest thing I ever saw," Connix admitted privately. "Amazing, yeah, that, too. But freaky."

With both Jannah and Finn to help Rey, the web now stayed lit all the time. Its hum reminded some people of the first birdsong before dawn; others heard lullabies, while still others insisted the song was itself code, if only its melody could be cracked.

The first twinge and discordance in the web occurred while Rey was still working alone. From within the Force, she sought out what was wrong. Something disrupted the flow of life, backed it up and, for lack of a better world, _curdled it_. This spot was a speck in the vastness of the galaxy, but as unyielding and jagged as a gall stone.

Armed only with the coordinates from Connix, Rey took the _Falcon_ to the source of the disruption. Nameless, only a string of numbers, it was the moon of a moon of a brown dwarf nearly halfway into the Outer Rim. In the frigid magenta haze on its far surface, the Force quaked around her. She found the remains of a facility, recently blown up. There were no survivors, but there were corpses in broken jars, and they all looked like Palpatine. They _were_ all Palpatine.

Since then, they have located two more such facilities. All of them have been blown up. The burn patterns pointed clearly to self-destruction rather than external assault.

*

After his first day in the web, Finn didn't hear the song distinctly any longer. The song settled into the background of his senses and became part of him, like breathing or sweating. He noticed its absence when he left the moon, that much was true. But when he was here, particularly in the middle of the web with one hand in Jannah's, the other in Rey's, all there was was silence. It was the quiet of deep rest and slow-moving dreams, rivers running and clouds blossoming.

Finn was on his way back to the web from the lavatory when Connix stopped him. She played him BB-8's message about Poe and the trip to Naboo. Nodding his thanks, grinning at the thought of Poe, Finn dried off his hands, pulled his hair up — his thin locs were halfway down his neck these days — and settled back into the center with Rey and Jannah.

As a general rule, the Force found him. Finn didn't have to look for it, and he certainly wouldn't have known how to search for it. What he had to do was be ready, which, some days, was a lot easier said than done. Today was a decent day. He crossed his legs, took the women's hands, and exhaled. 

Rey liked to dive deep into the Force. Jannah met it face to face. Finn just wanted to be with it already.

He was still smiling from the simple fact of hearing about Poe. He felt good.

The Force matched him on that feeling. Together, they existed.

He breathed regularly and floated a little ways off the ground. The air around them, the brine in their veins, the fullness of their hearts, everything flowed in concert.

Some time later, something snagged, then broke. A string snapped, a leaf blew away too early, a distant figure waved urgently, just out of sight. 

What Finn heard wasn't like the previous disruptions, which were ugly as well as unmistakable. This was a quieter bleat, more a gasp or whimper as the Force skipped around than a stoppage and back-up. It was probably nothing, but, nevertheless, he rose and padded toward where he thought he'd heard the hitch.

"Where am I?" he asked Connix over his wrist comm. He spoke softly so as not to disturb Jannah and Rey.

They faced each other now, holding hands, their knees touching. Their eyes were closed and each wore an intent expression as they floated and listened. 

"Stop thinking with your dick," Connix replied, which neither helped nor made any sense at all.

"What?"

"Just go meet Poe," she said and he heard Rose in the background, laughing. "You're a general. You don't need an excuse."

Apparently, what he'd heard — if he'd heard anything — occurred precisely at Naboo's astrographic coordinates.

Over lunch, Rey called it _unconscious navigation_. Connix and Rose, however, insisted that they'd gotten it right the first time and that Finn was looking for an above-board justification for going to Naboo with Poe.

Finn didn't know what to believe. Was he simply thinking with his libido? Maybe his attachment to Poe was getting in the way of this work.

"Perhaps, perhaps not," Jannah said. "You should go, regardless. Something's drawing you there."

"I can't just up and go!"

"Why not?" Jannah asked, and Rey echoed her.

Rose grinned at him, waving her fork so her noodles slapped the air. "Up and go, man. We're not stopping you."

"It's irresponsible," Finn insisted. "Irresponsible and selfish."

He honestly could not think of two worse things to be, especially simultaneously.

"It would be selfish and irresponsible if you told us one thing, than ran away and did something else," Rey said, looking up from her bowl and fighting a smile.

"Not that you'd know anything about that," Finn said, smiling back.

"Never," she replied.

"I still can't go."

Rose groaned loudly and tossed her empty drink sack at him. Jannah flicked her wrist and sped its flight through the air, then redirected it so it collided with Finn's forehead. Warm melon juice dripped down his cheek.

"Go," Rey said as she stood in a single fluid movement. "Maybe you did hear something. Maybe you just want a little Dameron ass. Who knows?"

"Dameron ass is not little," Connix pointed out. "Guy's got a fine behind."

"Far from little," Jannah agreed. "Quite impressive."

"Okay," Finn said as loudly as possible. "I'll go. Please stop talking about Poe's ass."

"We can't promise anything," Rose said. "Sorry, man."

*

When Poe arrived at the hangar, the usual crew was just cleaning up after lunch. He hugged the sack of street-corner turnovers he'd bought for everyone and tried to hide his disappointment.

Finn saw right through him. 

"You want to share?" Finn asked and poked the sack meaningfully.

"No," Poe replied airily. "Think I'll keep my turnovers to myself."

"Hand over the food, Dameron."

"No —" He held the sack over his head and twisted this way and that, playing keepaway. It was futile, of course; Finn was stronger and faster than he was, even without using the Force. They wrestled messily, driving shoulders into chests, their heads lowered and feet shuffling fast.

When Finn won, because of course Finn won, they ended up sitting atop Rose's work bench, their legs swinging as they shared the turnovers. He'd bought enough for eight, but that didn't mean the two of them didn't put a sizable dent in the sack.

"Lando's making me go to Naboo," Poe said as they finished. "This whole heir thing is..."

"You've been avoiding it," Finn said. His arm slid around Poe's shoulder and drew him close.

"It's that obvious?"

"Painfully, yeah."

Scowling, Poe pressed his face briefly against Finn's chest. He straightened up and said, as stoutly as he could manage, "I just need to sort it out with Rey."

"There's nothing to sort out," Finn told him. "You know that."

"Maybe I can do this run to Fansu, _then_ hash it all out with Rey, and by then maybe Naboo will —"

Finn didn't have to say anything. His expression had that gentle firmness, that implacable tenderness, that Poe knew all too well. Poe nodded and shut up.

"I told you, about a hundred times." Rey appeared from behind them, despite the fact that Rose's workbench abutted the hangar wall. "I'm not interested in any of that."

She was tying her hair back as she spoke, her head bowed, so she looked up at them through her lashes. Sometimes she seemed twice as old as Maz. Sometimes, like now, she seemed barely out of the single digits.

"That's not fair, though," Poe said. "There's all this..."

Leia had a lot of money, for one thing.

"I've got the _Falcon_. And this place. I don't need anything else."

"Neither do I!" Poe swallowed and tried to speak more calmly. "I'm not some crazy gold-digger, you know?"

"You'll take care of her," Rey said. She spread her arms, as if getting ready to hug them both. "You'll honor her. That's why it's you."

Finn was nodding. It was quiet for a while, despite the hum of the web beyond and the calls and laughter of Jannah and the others. Between the three of them, the quiet gathered and thickened, until it embraced them and held them fast.

"All right," Poe said at last. "I guess —"

"No guessing," Finn murmured.

"Here." Rey pushed a small piece of synth-vellum into his hand. She grasped his hand, closing his fingers around the scrap before he could look at it. "I don't want anything. That makes it legal."

"Rey, you can't just —"

Fixed on his, her eyes remained steady and unblinking. "I can. I did."

"But what if —" He didn't know what to say. Finn squeezed the nape of his neck. "She was your master."

"And your friend," Rey replied.

"She had a lot of friends," Poe said.

"So do you," Finn said to him. "But some are closer than others."

Rey released his hand as she turned to go. "Safe travels, you two."

Finn opened his mouth, then closed it. He shook his head — _don't start_ — when Poe smirked at him.

Poe slid off the bench to his feet and asked loudly, "What makes you say that?"

"Ask Finn," Rey replied without turning.

"Hmm?" 

Finn shrugged but didn't say anything.

"She's so spooky," Poe offered, then added hastily, "in a good way, of course."

"Of course, uh-huh." Finn cocked his head and raised his brows. "So?"

"I have to go to Naboo."

"You said as much, yeah. Okay. So?"

"But first I have this run to Fansu to finish for Lando, so I can't even stay here with you —"

Finn slid off the table. "No big deal."

"Oh, is it?"

"You want me to wail and gnash my teeth and collapse to my knees because we'll be apart for a day or two?"

Poe smirked. "You on your knees is always good."

Leading with his shoulder, Finn lightly body-checked him, then pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. "You're not wrong."

"Good to know," Poe mumbled into the warmth of Finn's embrace. Reluctantly, he stepped back, then didn't know what to do with his hands. "So I guess I'll — hell, I don't know. Comm you when I get to Naboo?"

"I'm going with you," Finn said, as if that were the most obvious thing in the world. "Try to keep up."

"No, see, it's this — ritual thing? Or ceremony, I'm not sure. Besides, I have to do the freight run first —"

Finn nodded. His calm was all the more striking as Poe grew flustered. "Okay, so I'll meet you there."

"But —"

"Poe."

Poe's mouth twisted as he looked around, all around, before finally dragging his eyes back to Finn. "Yeah?"

"I want to go with you. Is that so hard to understand?"

"No, of course not. I'm just — I don't think —"

"Why are you freaking out?"

Snorting, Poe planted his hands on his hips. "I'm not freaking out. Why would you say that?"

Finn just smiled a little. He didn't even show any teeth. 

"Fine, maybe I am." Poe huffed out another breath. "I don't know what they want me for. Do they even know they're getting me? They probably want someone —"

"They want Leia's heir," Finn said quietly.

"Her echo. They call it..." He trailed off, noticing that Finn looked struck by that, or distracted by something else. "What?"

"Nothing. Just an interesting term."

"That's Naboo. Interesting place. Land of interests and lakes! Interesting Naboo, ooh-ooh. Goes the jingle I just made up."

Finn punched his arm. "So why wouldn't I want to come?"

"Would you want to come if we were going to Boring Exoplanet Sigma-Five, land of dust and silence?"

"If you were there," Finn said, and paused, letting Poe take in the quiet, "I would, yeah."

"Damn." Poe whistled a long, quavering note. "You're good. You're really good."

"Learned from the best," Finn replied before shoving Poe lightly in the chest. "Now get going so you'll be on Naboo faster. I'll see you there."

*

Now that it was peacetime, whatever the hell that actually meant, Poe had plenty to do. He had an office in the main building. It overflowed with holo-stills and datatapes as well as petitioners and gifts and news spools.

He hated going into the office. He was fairly decent at the work; he made decisions easily and communicated well with just about everyone. Presented with choices to make, he trusted himself to do the right thing.

And yet. He wasn't Leia, he wasn't Finn. He had a rough, inarticulate idea of what was fair and just, but he didn't have a vision. He couldn't describe that vision and inspire others and see it through.

So he took these freight runs for Lando. Not all that often, just frequently enough to keep his head clear and his blood pumping. 

This run saw him doubling around a merc security brigade on the hyperlane spike into the Fansu sector. He had to drop out of lightspeed early and manually push forward to reach the far side of Fansu Prime. There he negotiated — with aplomb, he'd say, and not at all boastfully, either — a reduced percentage on the Karlini silks he was ostensibly there to purchase. Their particular chemical signature almost perfectly masked that of aromatic ambers he was smuggling.

Those ambers could be carved into jewelry as well as home goods. As such, they fetched decent prices across the galaxy. Shaved and cooked down, however, they also served as superb incendiary jellies. 

Several local rebellions, from the Core to the Outer Rim, desperately needed arms and materiel. The former Resistance supplied consultation and training. Lando and Poe supplied the actual gear.

Fansu authorities didn't like to let their ambers go. Of even greater concern, however, was getting out of the sector. There were plenty of upstart criminal gangs and wannabe pirates who looked to make a good score by poaching off under-armed freighters in the official shipping lanes.

Those who poached and hijacked in the dark spaces outside official lanes had already made their names. They were the ones to worry about.

Poe was halfway out of the sector, swinging his feet up on the co-pilot's seat, humming a song that Beaumont had taught him, daydreaming a little about a pastoral vacation on Naboo with an underdressed Finn, when The Slithering Spike Syndicate attacked and his ship went dark.

*

Theed's central space-port was crowded with Naboo coming home for the festival. At each stage of Customs and Quarantine, another friendly official apologized to Finn for the bustle and delay, though it was nothing he wasn't used to. 

Outside the inspection zone, the lounge was overrun with shrieking children and exhausted-looking adults. Finn passed through the lounge, to the arrivals deck, where excited Naboo and Gungans held holo-signs for their guests.

At the end of the deck, Finn saw a hastily corrected holo that read: _~~Organa~~ D'mron_

"General Dameron?" the middle-aged woman asked when Finn hesitated a few steps away.

"Not exactly," Finn said. "I'm here with him. For him. Waiting for him."

"He's on his way?"

"I hope so," Finn told her. "Believe me, I really hope so."

The problem was that no one had heard from Poe for over twelve hours. His last known location showed a cluster of hijackings and explosions and private security-forces activity.

Poe had made it out of much worse, Finn kept telling himself. This was just a delay.

"Well, then," she said, taking Finn by the arm and going up on tiptoe to kiss his cheeks, "welcome to Naboo! We are honored to see you."

"Thank you," he replied. He'd run enough intelligence missions that he knew, without thinking, to establish his authority as early as he could. He winced, however, doing so. "I'm Finn. General Dameron is my — I'm co-general. I was. We're sort of together?"

She was gathering up her skirts and hoisting his satchel, but she nodded. "Wonderful, wonderful! The more the merrier, the greater the love, the louder the echo!"

"Sure, of course," he said and managed to wrest his satchel from her grasp. "Please don't put yourself out."

She laughed. "Prati Naberrie. Come, Co-General Finn, dinner's about to be served."

Finn had no choice but to follow her, first to the canal landing, then down the winding waterway in a light speeder, to a house in the inner suburbs. She assumed that he'd be staying with her. Who was Finn to argue with that kind of hospitality?

In Prati's small, neat house, she introduced him to her wife, Ridayalu. They hurried him off to the guest room to wash and rest, then appeared all of ten minutes later to call him to dinner. 

"The Naberrie-Organa connection has been quite hush-hush!" Ridayalu sounded delighted by this fact. Possibly, Finn reflected, she was just thrilled to be in on such a big secret. "No one was supposed to know Padmé was a Naberrie, but then to bear secret twins!" She covered her mouth with her fingers, but her eyes were dancing.

"My grandmother always knew," Prati said, far more quietly. Finn must have looked surprised, because Prati dipped her head and added, "not in so many words, of course. But she said she always felt something, a connection to her sister that persisted."

"The twins," Ridayalu said. "She means the twins."

"Yes," Finn replied. "That's something. That's beautiful."

For a moment, he wondered whether his own family still felt him. Were they even still alive? Did he _have_ anyone to miss him? This was not the time to start that particular line of thought, he reminded himself. (There was no good time for such questions. He preferred not to ask them in the first place.)

He _did_ feel a connection still to Poe. Nothing terrible had happened to Poe, Finn was sure of it. 

He just wished the jackass would get a move on and arrive.

"And this Poe Dameron," Ridayalu started to say. Finn saw her expression flicker and change; perhaps she felt his discomfort and was looking to change the subject. "Tell us all about him! He's very handsome! All the holos were stunning!"

Or maybe she just wanted to gush about Poe. It wasn't as if Finn didn't understand that urge.

"He is very handsome," he answered. "Wonderful pilot, excellent leader. Brave as anything. One of the best people I've ever known."

Ridayalu nodded along with his response, her eyes shining.

"And you are his husband?" she asked.

The Naboo were famously warm and cordial, Finn knew, but they were also, he was rapidly learning, just as direct as _Rey_. They saw no need to beat around any bush whatsoever. If they were curious, or confused, their questions came at you fast.

"No," Finn said. "Not exactly."

"Ah, I see." Prati smiled, her entire face wrinkling up like one of those retkey nuts Poe liked so much. "Young people, you think you have all the time in the world."

"He's older than I am!" Finn said, then wondered why _that_ was his sticking point. "With the war over, we just haven't..."

"Haven't gotten around to it?" Ridayalu asked.

If only it were that simple. Finn shrugged. "We haven't talked about it."

"You should! You must!" she said, while Prati shook her head.

"Don't listen to my wife," she told Finn. "She is a hopeless romantic."

"And my wife," Ridayalu said, just as affectionately, "is a ridiculous realist. Ignore her, she's no fun at all."

*

In the morning, Ridayalu took him to the community hall. They ate breakfast with a crowd of women around Ridayalu's age; she filled Finn in, quietly, on all the gossip around each of them. Their younger relatives drifted in throughout the meal. Finn was far from the only man among the young people — in fact, there were several older men, too, he realized when the food tables were folded up and the floor cleared for dance lessons. The men wore the same long, flowing tunics as the women, with asymmetrical tails. One long tail wrapped around the head and hung down one's back. As a dancer moved, the tail lifted and floated after them, tracing their movements. The entire garment was called a cawlavasta. Finn's was buttery-orange and lighter than most underclothes. 

No one listened to Finn's protests that he was no dancer, just as no one last night believed that he was anything but Poe's husband.

"You are the Naberrie echo," Ridayalu said and adjusted the drape of the tail around Finn's head. "Of course you'll be dancing."

"No, that's Poe —" 

She looked around, eyebrows raised dramatically. "Oh, is Poe here? Shall I dress him up and teach him the steps?" She cupped her hands around her mouth and called, "Poe? Poe? Where are you?"

"Rida, please —" Finn begged. Everyone was looking at them now.

"No Poe here," she said at a normal volume. "But guess who is? His almost-husband! His heart's mate! His Finn!"

The way she said that, so easily, so naturally, was enough to make Finn's heart squeeze and gulp. He plucked at the hem of his tunic and shuffled his feet, unsure of where to look.

"Now," Ridayalu said, and took his left hand in both of hers, "follow my lead and try not to fall on your face."

He, at least, could do that much. Before the last couple years, after all, he'd been trained his entire life to follow directions and execute planned, regular movements. He learned the steps quickly, and Ridayalu was pleased. Over mid-morning tea, she bragged about his progress to her friends and frenemies.

Seeking a little quiet, Finn wandered out to a terrace overlooking the canal. The day was growing warmer, and he understood the usefulness, as well as the beauty, of the cawlavasta. Its tail could be tugged down over your forehead and up over your mouth when the wind blew, but it kept you cool and unrestricted even as the heat increased.

The water in the canal ruffled under the breeze, pleating and relaxing. Almost idly, Finn sought Poe in the Force. He was slightly superstitious that if he looked directly for traces of Poe, he'd ruin any chance he had of finding him. But breathing slowly and watching the light play on the water, he tried to be ready, just in case the Force wanted to toss him a boon.

He couldn't be sure, however. Maybe what he felt — the bark of Poe's laughter, the warm pressure of his mouth — was memory, not sign.

In the afternoon, Ridayalu was far less impressed with Finn. He knew the steps, she said, yet he refused to _dance_. 

"You have soul! Use it," she told him, several times, and Finn tried. She just kept frowning. "It's a good thing we have two days to go, or I'd be throwing myself into the Patine Canal right this instant."

Finn danced the way he thought: carefully, almost scrupulously, cleanly. By the end of the day, his feet ached and his cawlavasta was soaked with sweat down his chest and Ridayalu was loudly making plans for her own funeral.

When they returned home, Prati was just arriving from work, her arms laden with packages; Finn hurried to help her and she told Ridayalu that she could learn something from the young man. 

After dark, they ate dinner outside in the garden.

The garden was enclosed by a wall about chest high. At the far end, opposite the house, there was a locked door. Holding his tea in both hands, Finn wandered over. "What's back here?"

"One of Mother Solleu's echoes," Ridayalu replied.

Prati explained: their house let out on the bank of a tributary of the Solleu, the river that ran through the center of Theed. Mother Solleu reflected the galaxy above and through her, all life passed.

"Or," Prati said over butter tea and a plate laden with sweet biscuits, "does the galaxy reflect Mother?"

Ridayalu laughed and Prati winked. Finn knew they were sharing a private joke, maybe mocking someone sententious and pompous, but he liked the reversal of the question. 

*

Three Trandoshans had him hung by his ankles as they cut up his ship in search of lucrative cargo. Poe's head ached, throbbed like it was about to explode.

BB-8 _had_ exploded, just before they were boarded, opening himself up from a sphere into a flat array of small panels. He'd plastered himself on the underside of the captain's chair.

"Getting colder," Poe called to the pirates as they took a laser saw to a panel in the bulkhead. "So cold. So far. Just sad at this point."

The one left guarding him kneed him in the stomach.

"I'm just trying to help!" he protested, earning himself another gut-wrenching kick. "Fine. See if I care."

"What's on Naboo?" Another clomped back into the cockpit. 

"Lotta water," Poe replied. "Pretty architecture. Um. That's about all I know?"

"What's on Naboo for _you_?"

Blood and spit were mixing, clogging, in his throat. "Let me down and I'll tell you."

He tumbled down, landing on his head and one shoulder. "Warn a guy!"

An enormous Trandoshan boot pressed on his throat. "Naboo. Nav records say you're going to Naboo."

"You can read?" Poe banged the floor when the boot ground down. "Sorry, sorry, of course you can. Probably write poetry in your spare time, too, don't you? Ever think about taking that up full-time?"

Someone else kicked him in the kidneys.

Stomach and lungs heaving, Poe pushed himself up to his hands and knees, then backward into a crouch. He held up his palms. "Sorry, sorry. I get cranky when new pals whale on me for no reason."

They showed him their fangs and forked tongues.

"Delivering Karlini silks to Naboo," Poe said sullenly, as if they'd succeeded in threatening the truth out of him. 

"Karlin's right in the same sector," the slightly brighter one pointed out. 

"But the looms are on Fanshu," Poe said and hoped none of them had a hobbyist's interest in textiles. "Re-importing them. Very profitable — you guys should look into that. Good money, not nearly so much stress."

They took his advice, in a manner of speaking. They helped themselves to all his silk cargo and his hyperdrive, then departed. Poe's VCX was now a very expensive dumb pod, or, from another point of view, a huge coffin.

However, he had BB-8 re-sphering himself, undiscovered ambers, and a direct line to the head of Calrissian Concerns Unlimited. So he was coming out well ahead, all things considered.

He also had a couple broken ribs, some nasty contusions, and a _lot_ of explaining to do when he'd caught up with Finn.

He finished bandaging himself and went to check on BB-8's progress souping up the standard drive. He was limping a little, and his vision was slightly blurred, but this wasn't the worst he'd felt, not by a long shot. Shivering, he pulled on a jumper and fastened it up. In one of its front pockets, he found the synth-vellum Rey had pressed on him.

_what was hers is all yours. both of you. it always was._

It wouldn't stand up in court, and it wasn't anything she hadn't already said aloud many times over, but Poe found himself staring at the scrap anyway. His sinuses flared and filled as he blinked rapidly.

*

Only halfway through the next day, after too many attempts and Ridayalu's frown deepening toward permanence, did Finn understand how to dance. He'd been so foolish not to see it before now. Dancing was just being with the Force while on his feet. Like running lightsaber forms or practicing calisthenics or lying tangled up with Poe while making out, the trick was in the doing, not the thinking about doing.

The trick was in the motion.

Ridayalu clapped manically when he ran through the steps for her. They were in the gardens of the community center. He was barefoot on the cool grass while she sat curled up on a pile of cushions, nattering with her friends.

He called to her, ecstatic. "Rida! Rida, look!"

"That's it! You've done it!"

"I'm doing it," he said, starting again. Now that he was moving, now that his body was the dance, he didn't want to stop.

*

Poe limped into Theed well after moonset. He comm'd Finn a couple times, then realized the mature thing to do would be to wait until morning. He and BB-8 made it to the hostel with only three wrong turns and a near-tumble into the canal. Before heading to bed, he asked BB-8 to keep pinging Finn regularly. Face-down, boots off, he slept deeply for a few hours. He would have slept more, but the shrieks of wind instruments shook him awake. Confused, he stumbled to the viewport.

Early dawn light crept in lavender and pearly waves over the expanse of mud stretching past the hostel. He saw no sign of the river on which they'd arrived last night. A few isolated figures picked their way through the mud. Nearly out of sight, a marching band played on the far bank.

"Hey, Beebs? Any idea where the river went?"

"That's why you're here," BB-8 informed him and launched into an explanation, complete with holo-projections, of Naboo's unique aquatic core, its two moons, and the very infrequent conjunction of both moons and the star they shared with the planet. Most of Naboo's on this side were currently emptied; their water would return at sunset and with it, the festivities.

Echoes, then.

Outside, three kids were poking at the mud and laughing. Others walked alone, heads down, as if searching the river bed. One of the kids, cheering, lifted a large fossil over their head.

Poe pulled on his boots and went to join them.

Just outside the entrance, several vendors were already setting up, offering hot beverages and portable food. He sipped his caf and munched a steaming hand-pie as he made his way down the gently sloping bank. BB-8 hesitated at the top.

"You'll be fine," Poe assured him. "It's just wet sand."

BB-8 crooned doubtfully.

"You survived Jakku, Tatooine, _and_ Ahch-To, buddy. So many kinds of sand! You'll be fine."

BB-8 rolled in place, back and forth, considering. Finally, he informed Poe, "I'll wait here." 

"It's just mud!" Poe hopped up and down to demonstrate. The silt gave out a satisfying squelchy noise.

"As the Naboo like to say," BB-8 chirped, "happy mudlarking to you!"

Was it called that because they were all, essentially, playing in the mud? That was what Poe assumed. He wandered down the center of the bed, taking his time getting used to how the mud shifted under his weight. It was slippery on top, more than enough to send an unwary person sliding onto their face, but beneath that layer, it was fairly solid. Trustworthy.

He bent and scraped out something glittering from the silt. Approximately the size of his own hand, it proved to be, once he'd shaken it off, a comb. Its top looked dull red, like an old scab, while the teeth were wide apart and blue.

"Very nice," an older man commented and showed off his finds: a wrist cuff, three blown-glass buttons in various shades of blue, and what looked like a teapot.

"How long have you been out?"

"Since it started receding," he replied. "Just after dinner last night."

Poe whistled appreciatively.

The man grinned, shaking back a shock of white hair. "Not often we get this chance!"

Together, they paced up the bed, only occasionally speaking. They passed a small group of people in white jumpsuits measuring out a grid with synth-rope. Their droid was stamped with Theed City U on its back.

"Last Festival, kid dug up a Gungan war helmet," his companion told Poe. "Ancient, beautiful thing." Then he added, wincing, "skull was still inside it."

Poe, too, winced. A little later, he asked, "What's been your favorite find?"

He didn't answer at first. They saw the shape at their feet simultaneously, a curve too sharp to be natural. They dropped to their knees and set about working it free with fingernails and jerky grabs. When they were finished, they held a large plate, at least 25 centimeters across, engraved with swirls and loops and leaping figures.

"This," the old man said, brushing off the plate and turning it round and round. "Think this might be." He pointed out the crimping along the edge, as well as the figures' hair styles. Piles on piles of curls, he said, a hallmark of the Fine Bright Age, as were their tunics, deeply-cut open in the front and slitted at the sides.

"May I?" he asked Poe. He lifted the plate slightly and looked upward. "Please."

"Sorry," Poe said, "I don't follow —"

"We found it together. I'd like to keep it, but if you would prefer —"

"Oh! Oh, shit, no, of course. You keep it." Poe offered him a hand and pulled the guy back up to his feet. "Please. You keep it."

His eyes looked teary as he nodded. Poe clapped him on the shoulder, smiling. He'd done a good deed, but hell if he knew _what_ it meant.

His back ached and sweat stung his eyes, several hours later, when low, insistent sirens started up. The tide was turning, heading back their way. The crowds in the river bed started to make their way toward either foreshore. Poe got stuck in a sudden welling-up of water at a bend and had to scramble up the bank, much to the amusement of those ahead of him. His trousers got soaked to the knees and he tore his jersey, yet he didn't have a single regret.

He limped his way back toward the hostel, exhausted and happy. By the time he rejoined BB-8 on the veranda, the river was half-full.

"You stink," BB-8 told him. "And your nose is sun burned."

"Occupational hazards," Poe replied as he turned out his pockets and spread his finds out over the table. "Also, you don't have aromatic sensors, so how would you even know?"

"You played in a riverbed full of animal and vegetable life as well as assorted minerals. Of course you smell."

"Joke's on you, I've never smelled better."

BB-8 bleated disbelievingly.

"Can you rinse these off?" Poe asked, holding up the comb he'd found first as well as a broken metal chain and several rough-carved butons. When BB-8 chirped impatiently, the droid equivalent of "duh!", Poe added, "and maybe date them? Roughly, no need to pinpoint, unless..."

"I'm not a scholar bot."

"I know."

"I'm not a nerd, Poe!" His vehemence suggested that someone, probably R2, had been needling him. Poe would have to speak to the older droid about that. 

"Of course not."

"My strengths are astrographic navigation, mechanical maintenance, and —"

"Grand larceny and smuggling," Poe suggested. "Also backtalk and sass."

"Says you." BB-8 rolled back and forth in place, buzzing. "Finn replied, by the way. He gave me directions for the festival tonight."

Treasures forgotten, Poe set them aside and leaned forward. "You should have said so!"

"I just did!"

*

By late afternoon the crowds along the river bank were thickening. Joining them, Poe realized he was underdressed. His boots were still caked with mud since he didn't have another pair, and he'd borrowed a clean shirt from Mitrej at the front desk, but it was a little small, even unfastened down to his ribs. But he'd shaved and washed and even styled his hair as best he could. 

The barges passed slowly, rocking under the bare feet of the dancers, the lanterns tossing bright reflections over the river's surface. In the soft dusk, the vivid colors of the dancers' dresses seemed to glow, to last a little longer when you blinked than normal. The radiance persisted, caught up with the dancers' motion, and folded back.

Honestly, as he saw more and more dancers and celebrants, he felt less underdressed and more like a mess. 

BB-8 whirred excitedly and banged into his calf when the next barge neared. Finn was near the back, a broad, delighted smile on his face, a scarlet wrap and blue-green tunic clinging to his muscles and swirling around his limbs. He stamped and stepped, twisted and dipped, moving as naturally as other people breathed. (Not Poe; he wasn't breathing just then.)

When BB-8 screeched a greeting, Finn looked over and waved. His locs fanned out over his eyes and he jerked his head back to clear his sight.

Poe slipped through the crowd, as quickly but politely as he could. At the landing he leaned over the railing, reaching out to Finn.

"You made it," Finn said, reaching out to grasp his hand. "Knew you would."

"You've got a lot more confidence in me than I deserve," Poe said. Finn shook his head, then tossed his locs out of his eyes again. "Got something for you."

"Oh, yeah?"

Poe held up the comb he'd found that morning. The shaft was red lacquer, slightly chipped but nicely polished, thanks to BB-8, while the widely-spaced teeth were matte turquoise. "Even matches your gorgeous dress."

Frowning a little, Finn said, "You didn't know what I was wearing."

"And yet," Poe said, smiling. "Take it?"

The barge rocked a little. The river smelled briney and sharp.

"On one condition," Finn started to say. Poe opened his mouth to argue — the barge was about to move away — but instead of stating his condition, Finn tugged on Poe's wrist and lifted him gently across the gap, setting him down lightly on the barge. "There."

"I don't know the steps," Poe admitted. His balance wavered for a moment as the water slapped the barge. "And I look like shit."

Finn kissed him quickly, then fixed his hair with the comb. A flick of his wrist, an upward jab of the comb, and he looked even better than he had a moment ago. "You'll catch on."

"More confident than —" Poe started, but the barge was moving and the music clanging as Finn settled his hands on Poe's hips to show him the steps down the river of stars.


End file.
